MURDER BRIEF (6 page)

"Hard Luck" Tuck listened
impassively, then turned to Felix and accused him of abusing his
position of trust and causing enormous loss to his employer.
Indeed, the loss of its main factory without insurance cover almost
put it out of business.

The judge sentenced him to six
years in prison, with four years non-parole. Fortunately, he
recommended that the sentence be served in a minimum-security
facility.

Felix was led away and Robyn and
her instructing solicitor, Bob Gilbert, consoled Felix’s wife, who
asked if there were grounds for appeal. Robyn shook her head and
said the sentence was "within the range". Eventually, she
extricated herself and trudged back along Elizabeth Street to her
chambers.

Her bad mood got even worse when
she saw Helen Muldoon sitting in the reception area, wearing a
battered straw hat and enormous floral frock. The old woman had a
square face, furry upper lip and snaggly teeth. But her most
arresting features were eyes which glowed like volcano vents.

Almost two years ago she was
charged under the Dog Act because her pet schnauzer allegedly
attacked a postman. The heaviest punishment she faced was a fine;
the dog faced being put to sleep.

Mrs Muldoon claimed her dog was
in her back yard when the postal worker lost a big chunk of his
arm. The real perpetrator was another schnauzer that lived
nearby.

She couldn’t afford to pay for
legal representation. Nor was she entitled to Legal Aid. However, a
local solicitor generously agreed to act pro bono. He then asked
Robyn to take the case on the same basis.

Back then, Robyn was a
newly-minted barrister with high ideals and an empty diary. She was
desperate to gain experience, even if it meant representing a crazy
woman and her vicious dog. So she said yes.

However, she soon regretted that
decision. Mrs Muldoon had a persecution complex, chronic narcissism
and possibly schizophrenia. Conspiracies lurked everywhere. The
dark forces arrayed against her included the police, her neighbours
and the RSPCA. She had no doubt that, when the public finally
understood the horrific persecution that she and her dog had
endured, the legal system would crash to the ground. Robyn herself
had to continually demonstrate her undying loyalty to both of
them.

Further, despite paying nothing,
Mrs Muldoon was unbelievably demanding. She telephoned Robyn almost
weekly to rehash her numerous allegations and proclaim every small
development a major crisis.

She also frequently turned up
without an appointment. So Robyn wasn’t surprised to see her in the
reception area clutching the ubiquitous plastic shopping bag that
held the key documents in her case.

Robyn managed a stiff smile.
"Hello Mrs Muldoon. I didn’t realize we’d arranged a
conference?"

"We didn’t, but I was in the
city, so I thought I’d drop in for a chat."

"I’m very busy right now."

"Oh, don’t worry. I won’t be
long. I’ve brought you some fudge."

Robyn would have preferred some
money rather than risk losing a tooth on rock-hard fudge. "Oh,
alright. I can only give you ten minutes, understand?"

Mrs Muldoon smiled indulgently.
"Of course, dear, don’t worry."

Robyn led the old woman into her
room, where they sat facing each other across the desk.

Robyn couldn’t help staring at
Mrs Muldoon’s moustache. Had it grown? It seemed bigger. "What do
you want to talk about?"

Mrs Muldoon’s eyes flitted
around the room to make sure they were alone. "I was watching one
of those American police dramas on TV last night. You know, the one
with the lesbian forensic examiner who looks after two disabled
orphans. Anyway, do you know they can do a forensic examination of
bite marks?"

"I’m sure they can."

"We should do that, to prove
Vinnie didn’t bite the postman."

"I’m afraid we can’t."

"Why not?"

"Because the bite marks have
healed."

"You mean, they’ve destroyed the
evidence?"

"No, the marks have healed. It’s
a natural process."

"They could have examined them
before they healed?"

"Yes, I suppose so. But that
would have cost thousands of dollars."

"That’s no excuse."

Not for the first time, Robyn
wanted to scream that the whole universe didn’t revolve around her
fucking dog. She resisted the urge. Instead, she glanced at the
clock and wondered what she’d done to deserve Mrs Muldoon as a
client. At least, for enduring this hell, she would appreciate all
her other clients, no matter how horrible they might be.

Mrs Muldoon leaned forward. "So
dear, you ready for the trial?"

"Of course."

Robyn vaguely recalled the trial
was in a month or so. But she usually kept Mrs Muldoon in the back
of her mind and couldn’t recall the exact date.

Oh, hell, she’d better check.
She picked up her diary and turned over the pages. Ah, yes, it was
due to start in three weeks time, on 16 June.

The penny dropped. Jesus. The
Markham trial was scheduled to start a few days before that and run
for at least a week. The trial dates clashed. Damn. What should she
do?

The Bar Rules included the
cab-rank principle: that a barrister - like a taxi driver - can’t
dump a client because a better fare comes along. She was ethically
bound to retain the Muldoon brief and return the Markham one.

But there was no goddamn way
she’d do that. She wasn’t going to dump the greatest brief she’d
ever received so that she could represent Mrs Muldoon and her
vicious schnauzer in the Local Court for nothing.

Robyn boiled with frustration.
Maybe she could flick the Muldoon brief to another barrister. But
whoever took the brief would have to spend at least a day preparing
for the trial and at least another day in court, for free. Who’d be
stupid enough to do that? Robyn only took the brief because she was
young and naïve. If she was offered it now, she’d run a mile. No
question.

Mrs Muldoon saw the look of
concern on Robyn’s face. "Something wrong, dear?"

Robyn managed a grim smile. "Oh,
no, no. I’m definitely, umm, ready."

Now completely distracted, Robyn
let Mrs Muldoon burble on for another ten minutes, without
listening, before abruptly telling her she had to see another
client.

Mrs Muldoon looked annoyed and
said she’d almost finished. But Robyn rose and defiantly escorted
her to the lifts.

The solicitor instructing Robyn
in the matter was a suburban practitioner called George Kotakis.
Because he was also acting pro bono and now heartily despised Mrs
Muldoon, he’d shown little interest and made Robyn do all the
work.

Robyn called him at his office.
After they’d exchanged hellos, she said: "George, I’ve got a
problem."

"What?"

"I’ve been offered a junior
brief in a murder trial."

"Which one?"

"The Markham case."

"Congratulations. That’s
fantastic."

"Yeah. But it’s in the same week
as the Muldoon trial."

A long silence. "Really?"

"Yes."

"Shit."

"So I was wondering if you could
find another barrister to do it."

"You’re kidding, right? Nobody
will take the brief. Mrs Muldoon doesn’t have a cent - not a
zack."

"You must know some barristers
who owe you a favour."

"Yeah, I do. But I won’t call in
any IOUs for Mrs Muldoon. Definitely not."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

George could appear himself for
Mrs Muldoon. The charge was small potatoes and he’d do as good a
job as any barrister. But he obviously wouldn’t lift a finger to
help. He’d act as a mail-box, no more.

She said: "Alright. I’ll ask
around and see if I can find someone."

"OK. But I don’t like your
chances."

"Nor do I."

"If you can’t find a
replacement, tell Mrs Muldoon she’s on her own. There’s a limit to
how much she can expect."

"I hear what you say. But I
don’t fancy breaking the news to her."

George sounded grim. "I take you
point. Anyway, good luck."

"Thanks."

She hung up and desperately
wondered whom she could persuade, without telling any lies, to
represent Mad Mrs Muldoon and her delinquent dog. Nobody sprung to
mind. Nobody.

OK then, if she had to tell some
lies, she would.

The next morning, Robyn spent
several hours wandering around Fisher Chambers trying to find a
barrister crazy enough to take Mad Mrs Muldoon off her hands. She
wheedled, pleaded and begged. But no-one - not even the baby
barristers with no work - would appear in a dog-bite case for free.
Indeed, several looked insulted she’d asked.

Who else could she importune?
The only remaining candidate was Gary Monaghan. So far, she hadn’t
approached him because he was a tax lawyer who’d probably never
appeared in a criminal case. But Silvia said he was very keen on
Robyn. So maybe he’d take the Muldoon brief to impress her.

Of course, Robyn couldn’t offer
him anything in return. She certainly didn’t want a relationship.
So she’d have to be careful she didn’t manipulate him or raise his
expectations. She’d ask him very formally to take the brief. And
if, despite her best efforts, he fooled himself that she liked him,
that would be his fault. She strolled around to his room and
stepped through the open doorway.

Though Gary had only been at the
Bar for a few years, he was obviously prospering, because he had a
big room overlooking Phillip Street. The three inner walls were
lined with a massive collection of leather-bound law reports and
loose-leaf tax services. The room was scrupulously neat and clean.
Indeed, every document on his desk was carefully aligned with the
edges and all of the carpet pile ran in the same direction.
Christ.

Gary sat behind his desk, head
down, dictating softly into a mini-cassette recorder. "Of course,
the question you have asked is not without difficulty. However, on
balance, I believe that the proposed tax-minimisation scheme
complies with s149YZK of the
Income Tax Assessment Act
and
is therefore legal. Thank you for your instructions. I enclose my
memorandum of fees. End of tape."

He switched off the tape
recorder, sat back, noticed Robyn and flushed slightly. "Oh,
hi."

Despite vowing not to play any
games, she couldn’t suppress a coquettish smile. "Hi. Got a
moment?"

He leaned back, a little
nervous. "Oh yeah. Sure."

She’d planned to warm him up
with some chit-chat, before asking him to take the Muldoon case.
But she was too nervous. He’d probably say no anyway, so why
delay?

She shifted on her feet and
glanced down. "It’s like this: I was wondering if you could do me a
favour."

He brighten a little. "A
favour?"

"Yes, a favour."

"What?"

Words tumbled out. "I’m looking
for someone who’ll take over a pro bono brief I’m stuck with. It’s
not much of a brief, I’m afraid. It’s umm, a dog-bite case in the
Local Court. I’m for the defendant dog-owner, and the dog I
suppose. The trial’s going to start in about a month. I’m jammed,
because I’ve got a junior brief in a murder trial and, well,
funnily enough, I’d rather do the murder trial."

He looked a little puzzled. "A
dog-bite case?"

"Yeah. Like I said, I’m for the
defendant and I’m afraid she’s pretty mad. In fact,
very
mad. I’ll be so grateful if you’ll take the brief - so
grateful."

God, she’d vowed she wouldn’t
try to manipulate him. But surely, by promising to be grateful,
she’d done just that. Shit.

Gary looked uncertain. "A
dog-bite case? You know, I haven’t done one of those."

"I bet you haven’t. So this is
your big chance. And, umm, I’d be so grateful." Shit. She had to
stop buttering him up. It was dishonest. It was wrong. It was
unavoidable.

"When’s the hearing?"

"On 16 June."

He took a small diary out of a
drawer and flicked through it. "Yeah, well, I think I’m free."

"Oh really? So you’ll do
it?"

He shrugged and smiled
nervously. "Why not? I probably should do a criminal matter some
time, even if it’s only a dog-bite case. It’ll be an interesting
experience. What do I need to know about it?"

Robyn studied his face, trying
to divine his motives. Did he really want some criminal law
experience? Or was he trying to curry her favour? He was so shy and
polite it was hard to know. Indeed, he was so nice she wondered how
he made a living at the Bar. Must be very bright.

Ultimately though, Robyn didn’t
care why he’d agreed to take the brief. The important thing was
that she could now appear in the Markham trial. Hallelujah.

She spent the next five minutes
explaining the main features of the case, while he kept nodding his
head. "OK. I understand. Drop in the brief when you get a
chance."

"I will, and thank you. Thank
you very much."

He looked a touch embarrassed.
"Think nothing of it. I’m sure you’d do the same for me."

Not a chance. She looked down at
the carpet. "Well, I’m very grateful."

Before the conversation could
get more personal, she spun around and strode from the room, deeply
relieved.

However, she soon felt a nagging
guilt that she’d toyed with the affections of a very decent guy and
prayed that sin didn’t come back to haunt her.

Brian Davis nudged his Audi
coupe through dense traffic, with Robyn next to him, heading for
the Markhams’ terrace in Paddington to inspect the murder
scene.

Brian had already asked her
several personal questions, trying to create a rapport. She kept
her answers short to give him no footholds.

However, he persisted. "Your dad
was a judge, right?"